


Tell Me How You Really Feel

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, First Time, M/M, Mentioned Donald Trump, Nate POV, Pining, Post-Canon, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 22:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "I weep for my party."Nate had to read the text again just to make sure he was seeing that right.But no, his initial assessment was correct: Brad Colbert was texting him after thirteen years of silence. Or near enough to count, anyway. The odd update email to the whole group couldn't be considered anything other than polite distance, one Nate had also maintained. It had seemed...easier.





	Tell Me How You Really Feel

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction, ergo it never happened.
> 
> Warning for excessive mentions of Trump. My thanks to [](http://romantical.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**romantical**](http://romantical.dreamwidth.org/) for betaing during a very busy time! Also over on [DW](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/987954.html#cutid1).

[Brad Colbert 02-18-16:  
I weep for my party.]

Nate had to read the text again just to make sure he was seeing that right.

But no, his initial assessment was correct: Brad Colbert was texting him after thirteen years of silence. Or near enough to count, anyway. The odd update email to the whole group couldn't be considered anything other than polite distance, one Nate had also maintained. It had seemed...easier. 

And now this: Brad reaching out like they texted all the time. Like they'd ever had this kind of casual back-and-forth. Outside the battlefield, anyway. 

[Brad Colbert 02-18-16:  
What kind of tone-deaf retard takes on this hippie-dippy flower-child pope? Even this Son of Abraham knows that godless Internet comment trolls don't win over the Christian right by bashing beloved men of the cloth. What few there may be.]

Nate snorted and went with it, texting back.

[Nate Fick 02-18-16:  
We get the leaders we deserve.]

[Brad Colbert 02-18-16:  
These bespoke-suited ass-clowns couldn't lead a two-year-old to an electrical outlet.]

[Nate Fick 02-18-16:  
Going to vote Democrat, Brad? I promise, it doesn't hurt.]

[Brad Colbert 02-18-16:  
Traitor.]

[Nate Fick 02-18-16:  
The GOP started it.]

[Brad Colbert 02-18-16:  
And we've come full circle: I weep for my party.]

[Nate Fick 02-18-16:  
Good to know someone gives a shit. Where are you these days?]

[Brad Colbert 02-18-16:  
Quantico. MCSC. RAR.]

In the back of his mind, Nate realized he'd heard that. Brad taking on some project lead spot for small craft and "special projects" at the Marine Corps Systems Command. Once you got to be a Master Sergeant in recon, your options started getting limited. Still, the idea of Brad behind a desk felt...wrong. 

And there was the other thing. A whole big, wide world out there and now they lived less than an hour from each other, Nate in Arlington, Brad at Quantico.

[Nate Fick 02-18-16:  
Playing with toys and diving at the same time. You've got it all figured out.]

***

[Brad Colbert 03-03-16:  
The lady doth protest too much.]

It had turned into a thing. Brad texting him about whatever was on his mind: the disgrace of East Coast "tacos," the downright offensive Virginia beaches, the retardation of the Corps' provisioning process. But the election was a favorite target, endless stupidity and corruption, all in one place. Like Brad could resist that. 

And Brad was baiting him with this, Nate knew. It could be anything with Clinton, really, the Benghazi report bullshit, the email bullshit that just would not go away, endless reams of bullshit people seemed intent on throwing at her. 

All of which was far too obvious. 

[Nate Fick 03-03-16:  
It was a cheap shot from Rubio.]

[Brad Colbert 03-03-16:  
Like that's an excuse. Have you ever bragged about how big your dick is?]

Nate _stared_. He couldn't take too long to reply or Brad would mock him ruthlessly, but sometimes...sometimes Brad made his brain go places he didn't much want. 

Some things never changed. 

[Nate Fick 03-03-16:  
Never felt the need.]

[Brad Colbert 03-03-16:  
Exactly. When you have the hardware, you don't talk about it. Christ, this petulant, flaccid baby cheeto.]

Nate snorted. Brad's nicknames were getting ever more creative and entertaining. He ruthlessly ignored the part of his brain intrigued by Brad talking about dicks. He didn't need any more of _those_ thoughts...and they were useless, anyway.

Nate had accepted that a long time ago. 

***

[Brad Colbert 05-03-16:  
And the farce bangs on.]

[Nate Fick 05-03-16:  
My sympathies.]

[Brad Colbert 05-03-16:  
He's not a conservative. Hell, he's not even a Republican. And this is your nominee?]

Nate shook his head, marveling at what Brad was betraying with that. And still, months into their near-daily exchanges, he couldn't figure out what Brad got out of all this. Why get in touch with Nate now, after so many years of silence? Something must have sparked it, but Nate couldn't puzzle it out. Was it just the election? General stupidity? But why would that send him to his old LT? It was a mystery. 

That, at least, was painfully familiar where Brad was concerned. 

[Nate Fick 05-03-16:  
I rather think he's your nominee.]

***

[Brad Colbert 06-02-16:  
And Ryan joins the gutless weasel brigade.]

Nate laughed and moved to respond like he always did...but then he paused. This felt too good. It had been too easy to let Brad back into his life, to pick up like they'd never stopped. Nate had thought he'd accepted the situation for what it was, but every text from Brad came with its own little sting, bringing back all the longing and loneliness he'd told himself he was over. 

Apparently Nate had been lying to himself for a good long while...and Brad was making it impossible to maintain the fiction. 

He should stop. He knew that. And yet...

[Nate Fick 06-02-16:  
That an Army unit?]

In the end, _it felt too good_. Too right, too much like exactly what he wanted, but could never have. And if that made him pathetic, well, at least he would be the only one who knew. 

[Brad Colbert 06-02-16:  
As if he would ever stoop to serving in uniform.]

[Nate Fick 06-02-16:  
Now, now, Brad. He took on the Speakership when he didn't want it.]

[Brad Colbert 06-02-16:  
Bravery matched only by his promise to vote for that festering can of Cheez Whiz. The Founding Fathers would be so proud.]

***

[Brad Colbert 07-15-16:  
If Trump ran on a platform of fucking Pence through the P hole, I might actually get interested in these proceedings.]

[Nate Fick 07-15-16:  
I...have no words.]

[Brad Colbert 07-15-16:  
Do you have eyes? Because apparently distinguished members of my party do not, if they couldn't see the problem.]

***

[Brad Colbert 07-22-16:  
A Lance Corporal just told me that Trump will fix the ISIS problem because he can make deals. Rest easy, sir. Western civilization is safe.]

[Nate Fick 07-22-16:  
Has he unclenched yet?]

[Brad Colbert 07-22-16:  
I can't imagine what you mean. I simply disabused him of his sheep-fucking, freeway-underpass-dwelling, whisky tango delusions. One of us enjoyed it.]

***

[Brad Colbert 08-01-16:  
Fuck that motherfucker so hard.]

Nate glanced up from his home office to the TV, where the news silently reported on Trump attacking the Khans. As if that were a reasonable thing one just reported on—the weather, the lottery, the Republican candidate for president attacking the family of a soldier killed in action. Like you do. 

[Nate Fick 08-01-16:  
That about sums it up.]

[Brad Colbert 08-01-16:  
He's making me defend Army officers, Nate. ARMY OFFICERS.]

Nothing else need be said. 

***

[Brad Colbert 09-19-16:  
IS NOTHING SACRED?!]

Nate saw the text and smiled, having expected its like ever since Jr.'s asinine, racist tweet. Of course Brad would take this shot personally. 

[Nate Fick 09-19-16:  
Skittles will survive, Brad.]

[Brad Colbert 09-19-16:  
How dare that come stain besmirch the One True Candy. Truly, how dare he speak, but apparently I'm going to have to resign myself to the Kardashian-ization of political discourse.]

***

[Brad Colbert 10-08-16:  
Anyone else admits to assault on video and they're done. The candied yam? He's gonna win. The fucker's gonna win, Nate.]

[Nate Fick 10-08-16:  
Have some faith in your fellow Americans.]

[Brad Colbert 10-08-16:  
Does that seem likely?]

[Brad Colbert 10-08-16:  
Tic Tac condemned him more than his supporters. That's where we're at. Candy companies have more integrity than half of your fellow fucking Americans.]

Nate sighed. He couldn't argue with that. 

***

[Nate Fick 10-19-16:  
The latest poll of Marines shows a drop in support for Trump. Was that you, Brad?]

[Brad Colbert 10-19-16:  
Eh, it's debatable.]

[Nate Fick 10-19-16:  
Taken to proselytizing, have you?]

[Brad Colbert 10-19-16:  
Someone caught my Lance Corporal reaming on video and there's no real war on. The children are bored.]

[Nate Fick 10-19-16:  
If Democrats were smart, they'd put you in commercials.]

[Brad Colbert 10-19-16:  
For many years I've thanked the fact that common sense and logic are beyond them. Yet one more reason to be irate with that animatronic hair piece.]

***

Nate tapped his fingers on the polished wood of the two-top, sipping a beer, absently watching the muted TV currently relaying the election disaster, all Brad's predictions come true. He liked this bar because even though it was all DC professionals, it usually avoided the gossip and deal-making that infected so many. But even for this place, tonight was unusually subdued, everyone watching the election coverage, somber, taking some comfort in the shared shock. 

It was only nine o'clock, but the bargaining had stopped, the likelihood of Trump's win settling in. Nate took another pull from his beer, frowning. He grabbed his phone. 

[Nate Fick 11-08-16:  
Sitrep, Sergeant.]

The answer took a surprisingly long time. 

[Brad Colbert 11-08-16:  
Sometimes I fucking hate seeing through all the shit to the end of the line.]

[Brad Colbert 11-08-16:  
It just feels like the bad guys are winning.]

Nate swallowed against the tightness in his throat, echoes of his own thoughts. But he had a man down, he needed to help. 

[Nate Fick 11-08-16:  
We didn't go to war to let the bad guys win, Brad. Can't think like that.]

[Brad Colbert 11-08-16:  
Where are you right now?]

[Nate Fick 11-08-16:  
Drinking. But I'm at a bar, so it's totally acceptable.]

[Brad Colbert 11-08-16:  
What bar?]

***

The door opened, Nate checking automatically—

And he blinked. Brad stood there, in the flesh: black leather jacket over a blue button-down, worn jeans clinging to him perfectly as he spotted Nate and headed over. 

There were a few more lines around his eyes, but his shoulders were still broad, his body sleek, and his eyes were exactly the same. 

_Want_ pulsed through Nate. Fucking Brad. Of course he looked just as good thirteen years on. Better, maybe, for the palpable air of calm experience settled around him. 

Nate stood as Brad got to his little table, reaching out a hand. Brad took it, startling Nate by using it to pull him into a back-slapping hug. He was smiling.

Nate smiled back, unable to help the response. As shitty as the day was, it was still good to see Brad. It was always good to see Brad. That had been the problem.

"I can't believe you came," Nate said, trying to hide the way he was marveling and, he suspected, doing a very poor job. 

"Can't let brothers-in-arms drink sad and alone, sir. It's in the enlisted rule book."

"No getting NJPed on my account," Nate agreed, flushed that Brad still considered him a brother-in-arms. That might seem downright pathetic if he thought about it too much...so he didn't think about it, just let the pleasure wash over him. 

Nate gestured Brad into the seat opposite him just as the waitress appeared. Brad looked at her, then grabbed Nate's beer, and nodded at him. "He's gonna need another," he said as he swigged from Nate's bottle. 

Heat swept him again, Brad's mouth where his had so recently been. "The same," he told the waitress, who mercifully left to get it. Nate didn't need any more witnesses to his mooning.

And Nate was mooning, it was clear to him now. Thirteen years on and Brad regarding him with that steady blue gaze _still_ got his blood pumping. It was like being twenty-five and head over heels all over again. 

Lying to himself had gotten old. Nate had been _gone_ for Brad back then. It was mixed up with a whole mess of other shit, but with distance even he could see it for what it was. Potential, unrealized. A "what if" he'd never had any hope of answering given the duties of rank and the men they were. 

"I'm not sad," Nate corrected, once the silence had stretched too long. 

Brad looked around the room, taking in the stricken looks, the quiet tears. "You're hiding it well."

Nate smiled. "You prepped me for tonight, in your own way. I should thank you." Nate nodded to the waitress as she delivered his beer; he clinked bottles with Brad and took a sip. 

After a pause, Brad spoke, some kind of tough admission: "I wanted you to be right." 

"Sorry to let you down. Again."

Brad sent him a quelling look— _that's some bullshit, sir_ —then took another pull from his pilfered beer, his mouth just obscene, eyes still watching Nate, knowing. "But you're not sad."

Nate smiled a little, Brad's insight settling something in him. Being read so easily should probably worry him, but all he felt was relief that this connection had lasted. Even if it was just this. "It's good to see you," he confessed. 

Brad smirked back, knowing, _sharp_. "Still a masochist, I see. Missing the daily mockery. I get it—some guys need a firm hand."

"I do the handling these days," Nate shot back and why did this feel like flirting? His head was dizzy with it—it couldn't possibly be the two beers he'd had before Brad arrived—Brad's warm look prickling along his spine. 

"I think I'd like to see that," Brad said, something low and suggestive in his voice. 

That definitely felt like flirting...but Nate still couldn't fathom it. Everything was moving too quickly. Brad might see right through Nate, but he never could get a complete handle on Brad. He was still opaque. 

An agitated murmur made Nate look over, bad news sweeping the crowd. More states going to Trump, Clinton's defeat all but assured. 

The skin at Nate's neck buzzed; Brad was watching him, not the TVs or the crowd. Or perhaps he was watching all three in that way he had. 

Nate turned to him, staring right back. "Why _are_ you here? Not the brothers-in-arms bullshit."

Brad's lips twitched, but he settled again. "I wanted to see you," he said simply. 

"Why?"

"It's been too long."

It wasn't an answer, but if Brad was avoiding, Nate wouldn't get it out of him. They'd all had the same interrogation training. "I'm glad," he said eventually, letting Brad have his secrets. 

Brad blinked at him, looking away, jaw working. Then he drained the last of his beer and stared at Nate evenly. "Time to take me home, Nate."

All Nate's thoughts screeched to a halt. 

Time stretched as Nate's brain struggled to wrap around that statement. Then the pulse of _want_ hit him. 

Was _that_ why they were here? 

But no. Things were never that easy. He'd retired from recon, but he'd never stop being a recon Marine. And he knew how they operated. 

So despite his gut dropping out, Nate didn't blink, move, or react in any way, holding Brad's eyes. He could play this game. "Is it now?"

Apparently, Brad was going to push it. He smirked and stepped back from the table. "CEOs buy the beer." Then he was gone, broad shoulders cutting a swath through the late evening crowd, heads turning as he went.

Nate could sympathize. His eyes tracked Brad's exit, helpless to look away. 

Once Brad was out of sight, Nate shook himself. He needed to get his shit together, no matter what Brad seemed to be implying. It was probably another test— _who's gonna blink first?_

Nate settled again. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to face a challenge. He'd raised never giving an inch to a fucking art form. He could handle Brad Colbert pushing him.

Nate dropped some cash on the table, taking his time as he followed Brad's path. 

Brad was waiting on his bike, looking off to the distance, sitting still like only recon could teach you. It made something in Nate's chest twinge. 

At Nate's appearance Brad turned. They studied each other for a moment, one that _stretched_...and then Brad smirked. 

"See if you can keep up, sir," Brad said, eyes dancing. He shoved his helmet on and revved the bike's engine. 

Nate headed to his car, noting how Brad paused a little to give him time—huh—before he had the very surreal experience of following Brad back to Nate's own damn house. 

Brad parked in the driveway, unrepentant jackass smile in place as he took off his helmet. He headed for the porch, ignoring that Nate was pulling in and parking beside him. Like he owned the fucking place. 

Nate clung to that irritation. He suspected that if he were to think too hard about any of this, Brad would spot how unsettled he was. And that was as good as losing. 

Nate took his time walking to the porch. Reclaiming his territory. "What, not gonna break in?"

Brad glanced at the door. "I could pick that lock in under two minutes, if you like, but it seems inefficient when you have a key and all."

Nate shook his head and obliged, opening the door and gesturing Brad in. "By all means, come in, pretend you haven't cased the place already."

"Now, Nate, I'd never invade your privacy like that."

"Uh-huh."

"If Zillow listings happen to be public, that's hardly the same thing."

Nate smiled because of course, but as Brad took off his leather jacket, shoulders straining against the pale blue shirt he wore underneath, the smile faded. He never backed down from a challenge, but at some point he was going to betray himself and Brad could still read him far too well.

And once he caught on, this unexpected camaraderie would be over and they'd go back to what they were to each other: memories. The thought actually hurt. Whatever other inappropriate feelings he'd been harboring, he _missed_ Brad. He didn't much like the idea of having to miss him all over again. 

Nate made sure to blank his expression before Brad turned from the coat rack, looking around the house like the nosy fucker he was, smirking a little. "Hilarious that you bought a Craftsman. Missing SoCal, are you, Nate?"

"I liked the porch," Nate said as he took off his own jacket and hung it next to Brad's. 

"Of course you did." Brad shook his head. "It's all tapered columns and single dormers as far as the eye can see with these things, but they did a nice job on the interior remodel."

Nate smiled. "I always forget that you know this stuff."

"Thank you, father mine," Brad said, dry. He nodded to the décor: "Sisters?"

"What, you think I can't decorate on my own?"

Brad raised a cutting eyebrow, then picked up a vintage blue glass fishing float, covered in original netting, from its decorative bowl.

Fair enough. 

"My sister had some thoughts on the place after—" Nate paused, not wanting to get into the awkward subject of his ex-wife. Brad simply nodded, putting the float back. Like nothing needed to be said. 

Which made no sense, given that Nate had never spoken with him about this...but he wasn't about to broach the subject now. 

"Beer?" Nate asked after a beat, trying for light.

Brad smiled and advanced on Nate. "If I'd wanted to drink, I'd have stayed at the bar." 

Nate held his ground, meeting Brad's eyes. Giving no quarter. Of course Brad was pushing right to the edge. 

Right _into_ Nate's personal space, pausing for a beat to breathe him in.

Nate flushed, the proximity enough to stir his blood. Fuck his goddamn traitorous body for that. And fuck Brad, too, for knowing exactly how to press where it hurt. 

Hands on his hips startled Nate out of his self-recrimination. That was wrong, that didn't—

Brad leaned in, breath sweeping over Nate's lips before brushing a slow kiss there, firm and sure, taking his time with it. 

This...was not a joke. Not a challenge. 

Brad was _kissing him_ and the sheer reality of it scattered Nate's brain, too many thoughts coming too fast—he'd been so wrong, Brad _wanted_ him, when, how had he missed this?—even as his body was about to _go up in flames_. 

Brad tugged him closer, licking at Nate's bottom lip, a shock of wet heat that sent Nate reeling. 

Nate broke the kiss, looking at Brad wildly. "What are you—"

"Been awhile?" Brad asked, humor gentling the jab, moving in close again. 

"Hang on—"

"Thirteen years is enough for me," Brad muttered against his mouth, settling there and staking a claim. 

That broke Nate's brain again. _All this time_?

Brad seemed oblivious to Nate's inner storm, teasing Nate's mouth open with little licks and bites, then thrusting is tongue _in_ , exploring. Kissing like he was hungry for it, like he wanted to relish it.

Nate groaned into Brad's mouth, body feeling too big for his skin, like he was ready to burst with the heat of it. Like something raw inside him had been exposed, a kind of painful ecstasy. He couldn't remember ever feeling this before. 

Fuck it. 

Nate wrapped his arms around Brad, letting himself have this. If Brad wanted to show up and fuck his ex-platoon commander, well, Nate would take what he could get. 

Especially when it involved Brad exploring his mouth expertly, sucking on his tongue, hands learning Nate's body, slipping under his shirt to find skin. 

Nate broke the kiss, panting, and Brad grinned like it was some kind of victory. He tugged the rest of Nate's shirt out of his suit pants. "So formal. You turned into a suit, sir." 

"A different kind of uniform," Nate said, gasping when Brad nipped at his jaw. 

Brad absently undid buttons as he kissed Nate again, never letting their mouths separate for too long. 

Nate was dizzy with it, forgetting to breathe, letting Brad slip his shirt off, then push his undershirt up and off, both landing on the floor. 

He stared at them as Brad bit at his jaw again, then his shoulder, nudging him toward the hall that led to the bedroom, hands already at Nate's belt. When was the last time he'd done the 'ripping off each other's clothes on the way to the bedroom' thing? It must have been _years_. And now he was doing it with _Brad_. 

The movement knocked him out of his stupor, Nate grabbing for Brad's shirt. "Reciprocation, Brad," he murmured into his mouth. 

Brad flashed a grin and pulled away to quickly unbutton it, letting it drop right there. It was painful, how good he looked, golden and lean and cut as hell. So Nate stared at the shirt. It seemed safer somehow. 

Brad towed Nate back in, biting at his mouth. "The mess is killing you, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's definitely my top priority," Nate said, dry, turning it into a joke so that Brad wouldn't look too close and see that he was freaking out about being handed what he wanted, but only on a temporary basis. It was its own kind of mess anyway. 

The rest of the trip to his bedroom was a blur—clever hands and sharp mouths and getting pushed up against his bedroom door to dry hump like teenagers—but landing at the bed was not, Brad lying back, abs contracting with every breath, jeans undone, a porn invite so visceral it had Nate flashing back to cold nights in his ranger graves, feeling so isolated it was like a physical ache, desperate for exactly this, this impossible thing, and hating himself a little for it. 

Nate dropped to his knees.

Brad sat up in interest, eyes gleaming. 

Nate snorted as he took Brad's cock out, jacking it, though he didn't need to; Brad was fully hard. "Thought so."

Of course that would be part of the fantasy—get the LT on his knees. 

"Can't blame a guy for having good taste," Brad shot back, but his voice betrayed him, wavering.

Nate kept his eyes on Brad as he licked the head of Brad's cock, then swallowed him down, hollowing his cheeks. He knew how to do this and to what effect. 

Brad's mouth opened, involuntary, staring as Nate went down on him. 

Nate called up old memories for this, tonguing the underside, sliding his mouth down Brad's cock, then back up again, already feeling it in his jaw. It'd been a while. 

He rolled Brad's balls as he sucked him, gentle, but then let him feel the barest hint of teeth. Brad always had been an adrenaline junky; Nate knew how to work that, too. 

"Fuck," Brad said, then pulled Nate off and hauled him up into another spine-tingling kiss. Brad rolled them, getting Nate under him, tugging at his open pants. "Naked. Now," Brad ordered, like he was born to it, and Nate couldn't help but laugh at that. 

"Yes, sir."

Brad rolled his eyes— _asshole_ —but they both got to shoving off the last of their clothes, crashing back together, all skin and heat. 

Nate sucked on Brad's tongue, then panted into his mouth, "Fuck me. Right now."

It seemed to shiver through Brad like a physical touch, but he just nodded, panting back, "Yeah."

Nate was a little proud of how breathless he sounded. 

He searched through his bedside drawer and came up with a condom and _old_ bottle of lube—did lube expire? Whatever—shoving them at Brad, who already had a wet finger circling his asshole. 

The prep stung more than he remembered, but then, it really had been a while. After the second finger he grabbed Brad's hand, slowing him down a little. 

Brad frowned and studied him, but added more lube and downgraded the pace to "glacial," until Nate was writhing on his two fingers and begging for more. "Come on, another, I'm ready, I'm—"

"Shhh," Brad said, kissing him again, crooking his fingers and hitting Nate's prostate, the worst kind of tease. 

Nate grunted and swiped his hand against the open lube bottle, then added his own third finger, fuck Brad very much. 

The sound Nate made got lost in Brad's groan at the sight. "Fine, fine," he said, rough, pushing Nate's hand away so he could press three fingers inside.

Nate choked back a sob of relief, rolling his hips in counterpoint to Brad's fingers, sweat slipping down his chest. "Okay, now. I'm good, I'm good."

Brad didn't remove his hand. "You sure?"

"Jesus Christ, I'm not some kind of virgin." Nate shoved him off, then levered himself up onto his hands and knees. When Brad didn't move, he looked back. 

"Hop to, Colbert."

It knocked Brad out of his stupor, getting him on his knees and rolling a condom onto his cock, red and leaking. Nate _stared_ , his mind melting at something he'd only ever imagined, never thought could be real. 

"Shoulda known you'd be pushy," Brad grumbled, slicking himself and lining up. 

"You certainly know everything else," Nate returned, pressing back against Brad's cock. 

Brad huffed a laugh and then finally pushed in, Nate swamped with that overwhelming feeling of _too much_.

Nate exhaled, sharp, as the pain lanced through him, but Brad read that, too, holding still, waiting for him to adjust. 

After a few breaths, he did. As much as he could when it was _Brad_ and all. Nate dropped his head, nodding.

"Yeah?" Brad asked, breathless. 

"Yeah, come on."

Brad flexed his hips, pushing further in, slow, but the pain didn't flare again. Nate moaned his approval, shoving his hips back, trying to get more. Brad responded in kind, thrusting in, deeper, then again, the pace slow, but making Nate feel it. 

Brad breathed out when he pushed all the way in, like it was something momentous. He held still, muscles quivering but not moving, and what, did he think Nate was gonna fall apart or something?

"The fuck, Brad?" 

The words were barely out of his mouth before Brad was pulling back and thrusting in, powerful enough to send Nate into the headboard if he hadn't caught himself. 

Nate braced an arm there, the other under him, as Brad proceeded to fuck him deep and hard. Not jackhammer fast, which Nate had always hated, but forceful, making Nate moan and try to get more, Brad's hands scrambling for purchase on his hips, slick with sweat. 

Brad exhaled on his thrusts and Nate found himself following suit, the two of them syncing up automatically, its own kind of high. 

Brad folded over him, biting at his back, before licking his way up Nate's spine, then moved over to nibble at his ear. "I like the noises you make," he rumbled, sending a hot rush of _feeling_ sweeping through Nate.

Then Brad pulled out of him entirely. 

Nate gasped—the hell?—only to be unceremoniously flipped onto his back, Brad leaning down to kiss him, shoving his legs up like Nate was some kind of pretzel, his mouth hard and hot. Nate felt Brad's cock against him, gasped as Brad bit his bottom lip. 

Having sex with Brad wasn't getting any _less_ overwhelming. 

"Let's see what you sound like from here." Brad pushed back into him, no waiting or hesitation this time, and Nate let himself moan freely, tipping his hips up.

Brad didn't move back for leverage, though, stayed right there, staring into Nate's eyes, licking at his mouth every so often, whispering a litany of "yeah" and "just like that" and "perfect" until all Nate wanted was for Brad to look away, to not see the embarrassing emotional outburst that felt far too close. 

"Brad, _please_ ," Nate said, not entirely sure what he wanted him to do, but trusting that Brad would understand. 

The hand Brad wrapped around him was another kind of shock, forcing a cry from his mouth. Brad fucked him and jerked his cock in time, kissing him on every other thrust until it was all too much, too much Brad everywhere, Nate clamping down as white flashed across his eyes, coming with a moan. 

Even amidst his own orgasm, Nate heard Brad groan, low and almost pained as Brad's cock jerked inside him. Part of him mourned that he didn't get to watch that. The rest of him was too caught up in his own bliss to do anything about it. 

Afterwards, it was all panting against each other and Nate trying not to lose any more of his composure. Of course Brad would be the best fuck of his life. Of course. 

Brad took a few moments, then pulled out, flopping onto his side as he dealt with the condom. Nate stayed where he was, sight coming back to him by inches. "Jesus fucking Christ," Nate said, not even recognizing his own voice. 

Brad laughed. 

***

Nate got up for water, noting the still lump of Brad in his bed. 

Fucking _unreal_. 

He stared at his fridge door and absolutely did not think as he drank a glass. Thinking would lead to analyzing and Nate couldn't handle that right now. He set the empty glass aside.

He returned and settled back in bed, closing his eyes. He wasn't going to stare at Brad sleeping. That would be weird. 

Brad rolled over, pressing up against Nate, half on top of him, really. His mouth landed near Nate's ear, voice gruff when he said, "It occurred to me that I never got to blow you, sir, and that is a tragedy that simply must be rectified." Then his mouth was gone from Nate's ear.

Nate slammed the light on so fast he almost knocked it off the bedside table. 

Brad smirked up at him—unfair—but he was already swallowing Nate's cock. He'd only been half-hard, but the wet heat of Brad sucking him down got him there pretty fucking fast. 

Brad hmmed as he sucked him...all the way down, until Nate was in his throat, and where the fuck—

But that got obliterated by the pleasure spiraling through him, his thoughts fragmented and jerky. Nate could only focus on moments—Brad's teasing eyes, the way his mouth stretched, obscene, over Nate's cock, the strong hands holding him still when Nate tried to buck and get more, couldn't help himself, _please_. 

From the way Brad looked at him it was possible he'd said some of that out loud...but Nate was so past shame here, it didn't even register. 

Hell, he was past everything, including any kind of control, jerking against Brad's hold as Brad sent a finger wandering back to his asshole, still sensitive from getting fucked. Just like that Nate was _right on the edge_ as Brad swallowed him down again, the pressure of his finger only a reminder, but that was enough. 

"I'm—"

Nate couldn't get out more than that, brain splintering again, because Brad just swallowed again, throat muscles working around Nate's cock—fuck, he couldn't be breathing—and he _wasn't pulling off_ —

Nate said something—wordless, maybe?—but the rush of orgasm overtook him, obliterating his senses as he came and _came_ , too hard for the second time tonight, but it was _Brad_ , who was _swallowing_ —

Until it was too much, Nate gasping some kind of protest. Only then did Brad pull back, watching Nate with eyes that made him wish he could get hard again.

Brad crawled up his body, some kind of intent there, but Nate derailed it with a hand around the back of Brad's neck, hauling him close, taking his mouth. 

From his pause, Nate could tell that Brad hadn't expected that, but he went along with it, licking into Nate's mouth, sharing taste. 

Nate clung to him, knowing he was coming across as desperate, not that he could do anything about it. He fumbled a hand down to Brad's cock, but Brad just shrugged him off. Nate looked down to find Brad already working himself, the little flick of his wrist at the head almost more pornographic than anything else they'd done. 

Nate wanted to feel that. He reached for Brad again—

And Brad pinned his hand to the bed. "Just like this," Brad growled, voice shot. "Stay right there."

Just as it clicked that Brad wanted to jerk off on him, Brad was coming, ropey strings of white landing on Nate's chest and abs, even so far as his chin. 

Nate swiped at the drops on his face, sucking his fingers. 

Brad instantly shoved close, licking at Nate's chin himself, then pressing their mouths together, sucking on Nate's tongue. Their bodies fused together, come slick between them, and they were a _mess_ , would have to shower and change the sheets, but gripping Brad's shoulders to hold him close, Nate could not give a flying fuck. 

He had what he wanted. 

***

Nate woke to the smell of coffee. The clock read 6:47am and the bed was cold beside him, but Brad was apparently still here, which was something. He breathed in, catching the scent of them, his mind replaying all the dirty things they'd done to each other, echoes of arousal on the heels of memory.

It bothered him that he hadn't seen this coming. It bothered him more that he didn't know how to contextualize it. Was it just a one-off? A consolation prize? And why now, in the wake of the election, of all times?

Nate sighed. He wouldn't be getting any answers in bed. 

He got up and found some sleep pants, then hesitated over the shirt. On the one hand, he knew what he looked like, how Brad had looked at him last night. On the other, if he was about to get the 'well, this has been great' speech, he didn't really want to be half naked for it. 

Nate pulled on the shirt. He'd led men into two wars, he was the CEO of a hot cyber-security company...this self-consciousness was unsetting.

As always, he forged ahead. 

Nate used the restroom, brushed his teeth, then wandered out to the kitchen, where Brad sat at the island, reading something on his phone. He wore last night's jeans, but his button-down was still mostly undone. In the morning light, he looked handsome and relaxed, soft around the edges in a way that Nate knew was mostly colored by his own want. Not that it changed anything. 

Brad looked up at him, fond, the _pulse_ of that hitting him low in the gut. 

"What, you didn't make me pancakes?" Nate asked, light.

Brad regarded him evenly. "You don't like big breakfasts."

Nate felt the _zing_ of that slip through him. "That was thirteen years ago. My tastes could have changed."

"Did they?" Gee, why did Nate feel like they weren't talking about breakfast anymore? 

"No," he said, soft. 

The corners of Brad's lips curled, pleased, and then he pushed a steaming cup across the island, toward Nate. 

Nate grabbed it and took a sip—black, exactly how he always took it—glancing at the TV, on, but mercifully muted. He looked away immediately. No need to ruin the warm bubble of this with reality. Not quite yet.

Brad was still watching him, silent, long fingers curled around his own mug. Nate flashed back to the feeling of those fingers inside him, stretching him, pressing just exactly—

Nate shook himself. Those thoughts led nowhere good. 

Right. They should probably talk about this. The problem was...Nate had no idea where to start. 

"So...guys, huh?" Nate said, realizing after the fact that he'd been wondering about that. How assured Brad had seemed in bed. Sleeping with men not outside his comfort zone. 

"Not many and not often. I sort of got hung up on someone a decade back. No one else seemed to measure up." This was Brad being kind, Nate realized, making it easy on him. It was such a foreign concept.

Eventually he found his voice: "Sounds like a hell of a guy."

Brad smiled. "Yeah. He is." He glanced at his watch—still a ridiculous, programmable monstrosity—and his smile faded. He looked back at Nate, apology in his eyes. "I have to get going."

"Yeah, of course. This was—I had fun."

Brad sent him a quelling look— _don't do that_ —then moved around the island and up into Nate's space. He telegraphed everything, but even still, Nate was taken aback when Brad pulled him close.

 _He smells like us_ , Nate thought dully, but then Brad was kissing him and the thought melted away. Nate tried to keep the kiss light, but Brad was having none of it, licking into his mouth, body pressing Nate into the island, the stone digging hard into his lower back, not that he cared given the way Brad sucked on his tongue. 

Brad pulled back and Nate realized he was panting, to his dim horror. A fine time for all his training to desert him. 

Brad just looked at him, like obviously now they would be on the same page, but Nate felt muzzy, out of his element. 

"I don't know what you want from me," Nate said, soft, like a confession. 

Brad's eyes were still so impossibly warm. "Don't you?" He kissed Nate again, short and sweet, before stepping back. "I'll call you."

And then he was off, doing up his shirt as he went, grabbing his jacket and letting himself out. 

***

Nate floated through the day in a daze. No one really called him on it, probably attributing it to the shock of the election. Nate felt terrible about it, but while everyone else despaired over the future of the country, he was consumed by the heady feeling of a crush. 

He was thirty-nine years old. It was unseemly. 

Charlie finally mentioned it when he came to talk about their latest diversity recruitment numbers and had to repeat his opening salvo for the third time: "Look, it blows, but the RNC's gonna surround Trump with experienced beltway guys. It'll be like W, just with a bunch of racist manbaby talk to go with it."

That brought the real world crashing back in, wiping Brad from his mind. "W sent me to Iraq," Nate said dully. He had no idea what expression was on his face, but it made Charlie reach over and squeeze his shoulder in comfort. 

Then Brad walked in. 

Nate blinked, but no, it was real; Brad stood in his doorway, stunning in leather jacket and jeans, his eyes skating over Charlie's hand on his shoulder, darkening. Was that...jealousy?

The surprise froze Nate for a beat—somewhere in his brain, he hadn't believed the stuff about Brad calling him—so Charlie picked up the ball, smiling politely at Brad. "Can I help you?"

That knocked Nate out of his bullshit. "Sorry, I didn't—anyway, Charlie, meet Master Sergeant Brad Colbert."

"Retired," Brad added lightly, like that didn't make another series of explosions go off in Nate's brain. 

Nate stared at Brad, speechless. He'd heard _nothing_ about Brad leaving the Corps, not from Mike or Ray or anyone. 

Brad stared at him steadily, willing him to understand, but Nate was completely lost here. 

Once again, Charlie overcame the awkward silence. "You served with Nate, huh?" Nate was tempted to give him a raise, just for that.

"It was my honor." 

"Brad's too polite to say it, but he carried this dead-weight LT through Iraq."

"You had your uses," Brad said, dry, warmth in his eyes, a suggestion there that only Nate could read. 

But Brad was _retired_ and hadn't mentioned it and _what the fuck_. 

Nate turned to Charlie. "Could you excuse us, please?"

Charlie nodded and headed out. "Nice to meet you, Master Sergeant." The door closed behind him with a snick of finality. 

Neither of them spoke, the silence its own kind of communication. 

Nate finally cracked: "When?"

"October 24th."

"October—" Nate broke off, surprised anew. They'd been texting steadily as Brad had been going through an unimaginable life change and what? Brad hadn't bothered to mention it?

"You left your base tags on your bike," Nate said dully. That wasn't Brad failing to mention it; that was active concealment...but why?

Brad frowned a little, like he had debated that. "I thought it might seem...heavier, if you knew. I didn't want you to think I was—" Brad made some hand gesture that Nate immediately understood as a concern that Brad might be having a mid-life crisis or something. 

Nate paused, analyzing that. _Would_ he have thought that?

...maybe, but hiding it hadn't been much better. 

"I thought it was a booty call, you asshole."

More conflict flickered in Brad's eyes. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"I have no idea, Brad. It's November. What, you paid for another month of rent while you text-flirted with me and forgot to mention a huge life transition?"

Brad shrugged, like that was incidental. "I bought a place not far from base. The waves are shit, but at least it's on the water."

"That you're still paying a mortgage on. Or were you planning to make Virginia your permanent home?"

Brad looked at him steadily, a little lost. "I was trying to figure out where that might be."

That was...a huge, mind-blowing thing on its own, dropped casually, though Nate could see it was anything but. Brad was still wrestling with whatever was going on in his head. He hadn't gotten it before, but it was plain to read now. 

"...you left the Corps?" Nate still couldn't fathom it. 

Brad shrugged again, affecting casual, but Nate could see the pain in the attempt. "Better than the Orange Menace ordering me to go die in Iran or North Korea. I spent enough years of my life fighting a mistake of a war. I don't need another."

That held pain, too, one Nate felt keenly. It was a hell of a thing to do your duty, to be proud you served, but in a war everyone recognized as unjust, unnecessary, evil. 

It kept Nate up at night, even now. 

But Brad wasn't done yet, visibly steeling himself, not looking away from Nate's eyes. "When they gave me my re-up papers, I thought about everything, what good had come out of it..."

Nate shook his head, vehement. It hadn't been for nothing. It _hadn't_. "A sterling reputation, a credit to your country, all the Marines you made better."

"You were a good thing," Brad said, quiet, _devastating_. "I thought I might...see. If that might be something I'd get to keep."

Nate stumbled toward him before he even knew he was moving, crushing his mouth to Brad's. "You didn't have to wait," he mumbled, in between kisses. "Anytime you'd asked, my answer would have been the same."

Brad shook his head, but didn't stop kissing him back, Nate tasting the desperation on his tongue. "I couldn't give you what you deserve."

Nate pulled back, hands gripping Brad's shoulders, heat behind his eyes. "Belay that, Sergeant."

But Brad was adamant, forging ahead. "But now I can. At least, a little more. I can be _here_. If—if you want that."

Nate kissed him again, this time soft, almost chaste. A promise. "My answer was always the same, Brad."

Brad wrapped his arms around Nate...and held on. 

***

Fin. 

Comments are adored!

**Author's Note:**

> I will never believe Brad Colbert holds anything other than disdain for Trump, party affiliation or no.


End file.
